


And I wish I could shout you out

by LiviKate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Misunderstandings, Unrequited Love, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9624317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiviKate/pseuds/LiviKate
Summary: It was the first time Derek shut him up by kissing him. The first of many. And it was almost cute.Or in which Derek keeps stopping Stiles from saying important things, and Stiles thinks it's because he just doesn't want to hear them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been feeling really ineffective and useless in my own life rn, so here is some angsty, fluffy, smutty nonsense that I will use to validate myself *double thumbs up*
> 
> title from Unconsolable by X Ambassadors.

The first time it happens, it’s almost cute. Charming, he might even have said.

He didn’t remember what it was that did it, what sentence was the straw that broke the camel’s back, but one moment he was talking about the X-men and the next moment Derek was kissing him.

Big hands on his cheeks, Derek’s knee touching his, bridging the gap between them on the couch on a lazy summer Thursday.

“Whoa,” Stiles said on a breath that brushed across Derek’s lips, still so close after the kiss had broken. “What was that for?”

“You wouldn’t stop talking,” Derek said, his thumb coming to drag wetly over Stiles’ swollen bottom lip. “Your mouth was distracting.”

“Oh, okay,” Stiles said, agreeably, dazedly. “So then I guess I don’t have to apologize? I didn’t do anything wrong, I don’t think, but I still feel the need to. You’re just really pretty, I don’t know,” he babbled, before Derek’s lips were on his again, this time with tongue, with wandering hands, with little sounds and sighs.

It was the first time Derek shut him up by kissing him. The first of many. And it was almost cute.

 

 

The second time it happens, Stiles is trying to apologize again.

“I’m sorry, I really am, don’t be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?” Derek asked, idly browsing Stiles’ bookshelf. He knows very title there, he’s lurked around enough times to have memorized them, and Stiles stopped buying books when he started reading fanfiction, but Derek likes to browse anyway, likes to try to smell which one Stiles read last.

“Because I said we could hang out today, and I know you didn’t go to the Jungle with Erica and Isaac so you could come here, and now I’m saying we can’t.”

“It’s fine,” he said, turning to face the boy spinning anxiously in his desk chair.

“I feel like it’s not. I told you you’d get laid tonight, and now I have to write a paper so I can’t do the laying, and I feel like that’s a shitty thing to do. Not that people can’t change their minds, of course, no is a no whenever, I just mean that you could’ve gotten some tonight and now you’re not. Or I guess you still could, the night’s still young, you could go meet up with the terror twins at the club—”

This time when Derek’s lips cut of his stream of words, Stiles is grateful. Grateful that Derek’s not mad, grateful that Derek’s still here, grateful that Derek still wants to put his mouth on him.

Stiles hums into the kiss, hands coming to Derek’s hips where he’s leaning over the chair, tugging lightly, imagining Derek sliding forward onto his lap. He would happily break a chair or two if it meant having Derek all around him. Derek starts to give, bracing one knee on the seat between his legs, and Stiles groans approvingly as Derek’s hands tilt his chin up. Stiles sighs happily, hands running along the outside edge of the wolf’s tight jeans, urging him forward as they grew more and more out of breath.

When Derek pulls away, their lips smack wetly as they separate and Stiles’ ears feel like they are ringing just slightly. Derek strokes a thumb across his lip again.

“I should go,” he said, straightening up.

“Whaa, no!” Stiles protested, flailing at him causing Derek to snort as he sidesteps his windmilling arms.

“You have a paper to write,” Derek reminded him, one foot out the window.

“You could stay anyway,” Stiles said hopefully, imagining Derek’s special brand of quiet peace in the room, maybe even cooking second dinner together later.

Derek looked at him hungrily. “If I stayed, you wouldn’t get your paper done,” he said simply before flowing elegantly out the window, leaving Stiles breathless with both awe and disappointment.

 

 

The third time it happens, Stiles was expecting it.

“So, what are we?” he asked, already sounding wrecked, having just been drug to bed and given explicit, filthy details as to what was expected of him there. Derek just groaned and set to work pulling apart Stiles’ shirts and layers. “I mean, I’ve got a good idea, I just want us both to be on the same—” his words were lost as his shirt was yanked over his head, and he had a second to enjoy Derek’s devious smile before he was being thoroughly kissed again.

“Less talking, more fucking,” Derek growled, sucking his lip into his mouth and biting. Stiles groaned, pulling open his partner’s pants.

“Don’t think I can’t do both,” Stiles cautioned him. “I seem to recall you really like it when I do both.”

“Yes, fuck, yeah,” Derek said, pushing his hips into Stiles’ hand when he wrapped around him.

“You like it when I whisper in your ear, when I tell you how good you look on my dick, how much I like you in my mouth.” Stiles eyes went half-lidded as he squeezed around his cock, imagining them together, again, always.

“Get naked,” Derek growled, pulling himself away to squirm out of his obscenely tight jeans. Stiles pulled his shoes off, tossing them off the edge of the bed before shucking his own pants to the floor.

“I’m just saying, maybe the dirty talk would improve if I knew what to call you,” he pushed.

“Call me Derek,” he said, sliding back up the bed towards him, tangling them together. “Or God, or Fuck, or Yes. I’m not picky.”

“You know what I mean,” Stiles began to say, before his words were cut off by the slick grip of Derek’s hand around them both and the swollen press of his lips.

“Stop. Talking.” He punctuated each word with a roll of his hips, cruel in their perfection. “Just. Fuck. Me.”

And that answered Stiles’ question, he supposed.

 

It kept happening. Mostly because Stiles kept making it. Kept saying things he knew Derek wouldn’t want to hear, things that would make Derek cover his mouth and his and kiss him until he’d nearly forgotten what he’d wanted to say. Nearly.

 

“You know, I’m starting the whole college application thing. This time next year, I’ll probably be eating ramen in a dorm room somewhere.” Derek just grunted next to him and handed him another plate to dry. “I guess I’m wondering maybe if you,” He didn’t’ get to finish the thought, not when Derek turned to kiss him hungrily, pulling the plate out of his hands and spinning him to pin against the counter. His tongue was twisted into his mouth as his hands plucked apart his fly with ease. The wolf sunk to his knees gracefully, pulling him into his mouth while he was still half soft and could fit completely.

“Fuck, Der,” he sighed, and he didn’t know if it was arousal or frustration that had him fisting his hands in his hair.

 

 

“I told my dad about us,” he said bravely, eyes on the screen in front of them. Derek turned to him and raised a brow. “I’m eighteen, I didn’t want to have to lie about this. I figured, if we were gonna keep doing this, maybe you’d want to come over for—” Derek’s lips cut him off, gentle but firm.

“Shh,” he said, sliding closer against Stiles’ side. “This is my favorite part.”

He went back to watching the movie. Stiles went back to imagining Derek shaking his dad’s hand, letting him introduce as his boyfriend. But that would never happen. Derek probably wouldn’t be desperate enough to slam his mouth over Stiles’ to stop that word from coming out, not in front of his dad. He’d probably smile awkwardly, ask to talk to Stiles alone, and then quietly explain that that’s not what this was and that there must’ve been a misunderstanding.

Stiles tightened his arm around Derek’s shoulders and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. Maybe he’d stop asking dangerous things.

 

 

“Uh,” Stiles gasped, tilting his head up in the pillows. “Ah,” he bit out shortly as Derek shifted his hips, feeling big inside him.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, kneeling between his spread thighs, stroking his cock with a slick hand, helping him stay hard.

“Just gimme a minute,” Stiles begged, white-knuckled in the sheets. “Don’t move,” he warned, when Derek shifted his hands to his hips.

“It’s okay,” Derek said soothingly, running his hands up and down his thighs. “Just relax.”

Stiles hummed, shutting his eyes and trying to focus on getting used to the shape inside him. He was tight, and a little nervous still. He didn’t do this a lot. Derek was usually happy with hands and mouths, sometimes asking to get fucked, hard and thorough. But he’d seemed restless lately, so Stiles had thought they should try this again, this way.

“Okay,” he murmured, rolling his hips gently and letting out a sigh of relief when the tug and stretch no longer caused pain to shoot up his spine.

“Good?” Derek asked, folding over him, pressing his lips to his throat.

“Getting there,” Stiles answered on a huff of air, one hand sliding down to stroke his cock, the other sliding across the wide breadth of Derek’s shoulders, holding him close.

“You feel so good,” Derek said, pushing his hips in tiny strokes, just enough to start building heat between them. “I want you to feel good.”

“You make me feel good,” Stiles promised, shifting his hips, trying to find that angle that made this whole production worth it. Derek helped, grabbing him by the back of one knee and pushing it up, tilting his hips and making room. After several minutes of short, gentle thrusts, in which Stiles’ brow furrowed as he worried it might not get better, finally they found an angle that worked. Stiles sighed a gusty sigh of relief, legs tightening around Derek’s waist to hold him there.

The wolf’s breathing changed as he lengthened his thrusts, long and hitching as he pushed into him. His cock found that spot of heat inside his partner again and again and Stiles held on tightly, reminded as to why people liked this so damn much. He took his hand off his cock, content to let Derek move against it, pinned between their stomachs. He wrapped his arm around his waist, keeping his close. He tightened his hold on his shoulders, pulling him down far enough to bury his face in the salty curve of his neck.

“You okay?” Derek asked, body shaking with pleasure.

“Yeah, yes,” Stiles huffed, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck. “Just stay right here.” Derek nodded, adjusting his knees to he could thrust smoothly, nearly flattened on the boy underneath him. Stiles’ breath started coming in punched out little groans as flames of pleasure flickered through his whole body. “You can go faster.”

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek said, turning his head to grab his mouth in a tender kiss that belied how hungrily their hips moved together. Stiles felt himself getting close, felt the tremors mirrored in Derek’s body as he began to thrust a shaky rhythm. He wrapped his fist back around his cock, pulling quickly over the head in the scant space between them, keeping a firm hold on Derek’s shoulders.

“I’m, I’m,” he gasped, lips brushing his partners. “Derek, I lov—” He was cut off by a kiss, and he kissed back desperately, letting him feel it in his lips even if he refused to let him say it out loud. There was no way he didn’t know.

When he came it was silent. His body went taught, head tipped back, Derek lipping at his jaw, but he didn’t make a sound.

 

After that he stopped trying to say all those dangerous things he wasn’t supposed to. It got easier, the longer it went on. Stiles stopped trying to tell him he loved him, call him his boyfriend, or talk about the future, the more sure he got that if he ever slipped, it would end everything. Derek didn’t want to hear it, and Stiles didn’t want to lose what little he had. It’s not like Derek didn’t know how he felt. He’d licked the words right out of Stiles’ mouth time and time again, he knew how they tasted.

It was a couple weeks of this, of maintaining careful pretense and pretending neither knew what the other knew, when Derek cracked.

“I think we need to talk,” he said, right after climbing in through his window and Stiles was shocked.

“ _You_ want to _talk?”_ He said incredulously, before he could even understand the implications of the words. And then it hit him. Derek wanted to talk. It was over.

He acted, in the only, desperate way he knew how. He jerked up from his seat, striding quickly across the room and pushing Derek against the window with his body. He kissed him, messy and firm, he grabbed his head and kissed him strongly, hoping to stop the flow of words he was afraid of.

Derek pulled away, looking confused.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Stop talking,” he said, the words he’d heard countless times. He kissed him again, hands on his arms, holding him close, with as much strength as he had, he held on.

“I just told you I had something to say,” he mumbled against Stiles’ lips.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Stiles said, putting a palm on the back of his neck, squeezing tightly.

Derek pushed him away. He stumbled back a step and watched as Derek wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What was that?” Derek asked again. “You can’t kiss me just because you don’t want to hear what I have to say.” He sounded angry.

“Oh, so, you’re allowed to do it, but I’m not?” Stiles retorted, getting a little angry himself. Maybe it didn’t work the other way. Maybe Derek knew that Stiles would do anything to kiss him, to keep him. Maybe it worked for Derek because he knew Stiles loved him and would never turn him away. Maybe that’s why it didn’t work for Stiles.

“I don’t do that,” Derek said, frowning. Stiles just gave him a look with a raised brow and walked back to his chair, collapsing down into it. Something told him that he should take this standing, like a man. But he wasn’t kidding himself, he was tired already and it would only get worse.

“Well, go ahead.” He closed his eyes and waited. Nothing happened. He turned the chair to face Derek fully and cracked one eye open. He was standing against the window, looking unsure and confused. “You had something to say?” he prompted. Derek seemed to center himself, squaring his shoulders and regrouping.

“You’ve been different lately, and I want to know why.” Stiles shrugged. At least it wasn’t a break up, or whatever a break up would look like when you aren’t even dating.

“I don’t know,” he said, not looking at the wolf. “I guess I get it now. I didn’t know I was acting differently.”

“You smell different,” Derek clarified, coming to sit on the end of his bed, using his foot to spin Stiles’ chair around to face him. “What to you mean, you get it now?”

“Us, what we are. I get it,” he said, picking at a hangnail.

“What does that mean?” Derek asked, studying his face like it might give him clues. Stiles sighed.

“What do you want me to say, Derek?” he asked, exasperatedly, annoyed that he’d been taught not to talk about any of these things, and once he finally accepted that, now he was being asked?

“I don’t know, I want you to tell me what’s wrong. I want things to go back to normal.” Stiles stared back, trying to put the pieces together. Maybe Derek liked that Stiles was in love with him. Maybe it made him feel special, but hearing it out loud was too much. Maybe he liked leading him on, knowing that Stiles was devoted to him but never giving him too much. He didn’t think Derek was that cruel. It didn’t make sense, not with the kind of relationships he’d had in the past. It didn’t sound like something he would do, but he didn’t know what else to think.

“What’s normal?” he asked, rubbing a hand down his face. “What do you want from me?” Derek looked like he was rapidly losing control of the situation, which was strange because Stiles hadn’t asked any hard questions.

“You’ve been pulling away from me,” he said, his voice quiet. “I want to know if I did something wrong.”

It broke Stiles’ heart a little, to have to decide the answer to that. Had Derek done anything wrong? He kept sleeping with a boy he knew full well was in love with him, and he never stopped it. But Stiles’ didn’t either, and it was as much his choice as Derek’s. They were both adults, and Stiles could only blame himself for the sucking wound in his chest.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, wearily. “But that doesn’t mean I’m okay.”

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked, scooting even closer to the edge of his seat, putting a hand on Stiles’ knee.

“It just kinda sucks, you know, for me. Because I have feelings for you.”

“Why does that suck?” Derek asked, eyebrows creasing in confusion. “I thought you... liked me?” he said, hesitating over the word. Stiles laughed and it sounded hollow and ugly even to his own ears.

“I love you, Derek. It’s okay, you can say it.” There was a small, uncertain smile on his face, like maybe now that it was finally out in the air, he liked the way it sounded. Stiles smiled sadly back, trying not to hear his own heart, pounding in pieces in his chest. Derek’s nose twitched.

“Then why do you always smell sad?” he asked, his shaky smile growing self-conscious.

“Because I am sad,” Stiles admitted, pulling at the hangnail on his finger until it bled.

“Why?” Derek asked quietly, and one look at his face told Stiles that he really didn’t know. He hadn’t been cruel, he hadn’t been malicious. He honestly didn’t understand. It didn’t make it better. It made it worse, because it meant that Derek was every bit the amazing man Stiles had fallen in love with.

“Because I want you to love me back,” Stiles said, his voice cracking as his eyes grew hot.

He didn’t see Derek move but suddenly he was there, cupping his face and turning him up into a kiss.

“No,” Stiles sputtered against his lips, shoving him away. Derek looked wide eyed and confused, and Stiles saw a spot on his cheek, shiny from where his tear rubbed off on his skin. “It’s out there now,” Stiles said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “You let me say it once, you can’t shut me up anymore, I don’t care if you don’t want to hear it again.”

“Stiles, I don’t understand why you’re upset,” Derek said, nearly begging, looking lost and confused. He was leaning towards him, perched on the edge of the bed they’d lain in so many times, like he wasn’t ripping his heart to pieces.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Stiles said, bravely holding eye contact as a slow tear budded onto his cheek. “But you’re being really cruel. I’m pretty sure you’re not doing it on purpose, but you know I’m in love with you, and you keep treating me like this anyway.”

“Treating you like what? What am I doing wrong?” Derek slid down from the edge of the bed, kneeling between Stiles’ knees, hands firmly on his thighs, looking so earnest. Stiles just didn’t understand.

“You treat me like I’m nothing,” he whispered, anger dampened but not gone, speaking straight from the heart instead. From the broken, aching heart. “You only want sex from me, and when I try to ask for anything more, you just kiss me to shut me up. Like that’s all I'm good for. But I love you, and you know that, and it hurts.” He finished with tears in his eyes, and an angry wobble back in his voice. His palms were wet with sweat, balled on his thighs in impotent, useless anger, at himself and at Derek and at every kiss that had ever stopped up the words in his throat, bottling them up until they poured out, embarrassingly so, in this moment.

Of all the possible responses he’d imagined, at finally confessing his feelings to Derek, having the other man throw his hands into the air and give him an annoyed, bitchy expression wasn’t one of them.

“I do not treat you like that,” he said defensively. “And I don’t kiss you like that,” Derek said, and he sounded angry and it was only from months of studying those deceptively expressive brows that clued Stiles into the fact that the wolf was angry at himself. “Don’t ever say that I don’t kiss you like I love you, because I fucking do.”

Stiles looked at him with shock, both at his words and the sureness with which he said them.

“You love me?” he asked in a voice that was almost too small to be heard, too small to stand on its own in a room as filled with uncertainty as this one was.

“I don’t talk, Stiles, I _do,_ ” Derek said with urgency, facing the boy where he still sat in his chair. “You talk, but I don’t do that. I just do.” Derek growled under his breath, standing to plant his hands on the arms of the chair and lean down into his space. “You talk, I do, but it means the same thing,” he said, quietly into the space between them, before dipping forward and brushing a feather light kiss over his lips.

“What are you saying?” Stiles asked on a shaky breath, eyes closed from the fleeting kiss.

“I’m not saying anything,” Derek rumbled over him, pressing his lips to one eyelid and then the other. “I’m trying to show you.”

Stiles took a second, absorbing, looking back at all of these rejections in new light. He felt his heart surge with hope and Derek heard it too, and they reached for each other at the same time, tangling their limbs together.

“When I asked what we were, when I tried to tell you I loved you,” Stiles whispered into his neck, “you were agreeing with me?” Derek pulled back enough to kiss him, fiercely but quickly. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

Derek winced, and the human felt in where he held him.

“I thought I did,” he answered gruffly. “You just didn’t hear me.”

“I didn’t know what to listen for. It’s like we speak different languages.”

“Well you learned Latin for me,” Derek said with a smile in his voice, pressing his grin into the curve of his shoulder. “This shouldn’t be that hard. Every time I kiss you, it means I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Plz leave kudos and yell at me in the comments. That would be rad. But not like mean yelling. I’m not here to be berated, so be kind to my dead little soul.


End file.
